


Softly Spoken - Write me A Song

by oonanoodle



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Long, M/M, OCs - Freeform, Starpopper, ongoing, songwriting au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonanoodle/pseuds/oonanoodle
Summary: Sport Raventorch is a hardworking songwriter who works in the outskirts of a relatively known city. He has a large crowd of people who want his help. However, he couldn’t have predicted whatever he would and whoever he would let into his Closed-off world.
Kudos: 1





	1. Rough Draft

I’m taking a walk to the recording station on a Thursday again. It’s part of my job to write songs for better singers since I know the singers will sound prettier than me when they perform.

It sounds extremely self-deprecating, but several publishers have noted that my voice is too dark for what I’m writing for. They suggest that I should sing somber things. It may be because I always sound on the brink of tears or the fact that I sound horrible. But that’s definitely not what I’m into. I’m already depressed enough.

Usually, the people I meet at the booth sing love songs, since they are easy to make a good fortune out of or they don’t think of anything bad. To be honest, I was very riled up to help an alternative punk rock band come up with a solid bridge about grinded skulls. 

I’m grateful that I chose this job. It fits me very well and I get to meet new people, and usually never see them again. That’s how I like it. Forming tight and strong bonds never works for me. 

As I walk into the door, I hear the same heavy electric guitar riff being played over and over. I don’t blame whoever the guitarist is since the part doesn’t seem easy at all. It reminds me of when I can’t seem to get anything right (which is a lot of the time) so I repeat until I can’t take it anymore.

I sit down on a chair in the waiting area as I rhythmically tap my foot on the floor while waiting for my client. I hope it’s not another love song.

“Yo!”

I turn around and see a girl with bleached blonde hair and mocha brown skin. It’s Chema, one of the most popular icons to record here. She's also one of my few friends. She’s been on tour at least one time before, but her ego managed not to inflate after her fame. I admire her humble nature.

“Sport, haven’t you heard who requested song help from you?”

It’s strange how she talks about this, almost like I know everyone who I work with. 

“No, I don’t”

She gives me an odd look and tilts her head a bit. She’s definitely judging me. She’s judging me in an incredibly kind way. 

“Well, he has a YouTube account! He usually posts covers on it, but his original songs are pretty neat. There’s an ongoing joke about how disproportionately small his ukulele is. There is another one about his weird obsession with plants.”

Chema has an excellent taste of music, but I hate that she doesn’t tell me much about the bands she finds. I need inspiration too. 

I’ve also noticed that she hasn’t mentioned his name yet, but that doesn’t matter much anyways. I probably won’t want to know much about YouTube-channel-cover-artist-guy.

Chema and I make fun of bands with overly complicated names and ridicule several writing styles as we wait for the client to enter room number 5.

+++

As time runs out, I head out to room 5 with all my equipment and paper. Chema hyped whoever he was, so I expected him to be some kind of average guy who just wanted some advice. As I opened the door and stepped in, my expectations took a leap in the air. Maybe my heart did too.

As I go into the room to sit, I stumble onto the recording chair, since it’s hard to act straight.

He wore black wool sweater that seemed to hug his body just right around his waist. His hair was somehow a mess and pleasant to look at, with its dusty brown shades and a fade near the neck. His freckles under his eyes had to be his best feature, but I wasn’t ready to admit that. I gave him a good stare in his brown eyes, and disguised my attraction as a professional scan. 

When he looked at me, he simply smiled. The old saying is true; beauty really does lie in simplicity.

“Oh, hi there. You must be Sport Raventorch. I don’t usually work with other people my age. It’s almost always people who aren’t exactly middle-aged yet.”

I notice that he has a slight Canadian accent. Cool. Neat. Not obsessed at all.

“I am Sport Raventorch,” I reply, but not with the energy I wanted. “A-and who may you be?” I instantly cringe at my stumble. I pretend not to care about it.

“Oh! I’m Grettenel , Grett Grayshop. I’m having a little trouble getting my song right. It’s called Regardless. It’s a little cheesy, but I think you’ll like it.”

I would’ve normally been disappointed since this was a love song. But since he’s singing this, Complaining won’t work here.

I don’t ever get tired of your touch. 

I never get sick of you much. 

My face simmers a hot red, since we’re alone in a room together and it feels like he’s singing this to me.

if you’re alone,

You’re not truly alone 

I still am here

Regardless.

His voice reminds me of some kind of peacefulness I can only feel in nature. I stare at his fingers as they change the chords of his small and cheap ukulele. 

If you’re too sad

It’s alright to be sad 

I’ll lighten you up

Regardless.

I’m starting at him, but his eyes are usually closed while he plays. He doesn’t notice, blink or flinch.

If you can’t think,

I know it’s hard to think 

So I will lend you some time

Regardless

The remainder of the song is just him belting out long vowels with loud, strummed chords. It’s a common song-fill, but he somehow managed to make it feel so endearing.

When he finishes, he’s sitting one seat closer to me, his little ukulele is placed on a stand on the back table. He’s smiling and waiting for feedback.

I’m usually pretty great at feedback, but this man has me dumb with proper words. 

“Wonderful job,” I attempt to say correctly. 

“But, you don’t seem to have much of a pre chorus lead in. It’s nice how you have it, but there really isn’t a flow in your beat yet, but I’m here to help you with it.”

I noticed that I might’ve been too nice. I was supposed to be criticizing him, not glorifying him. Right then, I really was lost. For once, I couldn’t find many faults.

I forgot what he was really trying to say what his song was about, but it really hit me when he said he didn’t really know who he was writing his love songs for. It’s honestly more of a comfort song. 

I really started paying attention when he asked me to sing.

“Why would you ask me to sing? I’m the one who’s criticizing here.”

“Oh, it just seems that you know a whole lot about how to write a good song! I wonder if you’ve written some for yourself.”

It’s been a long time since I've really written anything for myself. I stare at the wall for a second but I instantly turned around to look at him (mainly because I made this awkward).

“Well, I write songs for Chema Chol-”

“WHAT,” he interrupts, making me jump in my chair. “That’s so cool! I cover her songs on my channel!” 

I think it’s funny that Chema and Grett geek out for each other. I think I should tell him that Chema watches his videos and knows the jokes about him, but I’m afraid that he’ll geek out even more. That seems like it would be scary.

“So… when are you gonna show off your skills? You write stuff for Chema Choll. That’s something else.”

I shouldn’t have told him that since now he expects me to have amazing talent just because I write for some popular artist. As a professional co-writer, I should have the ability to perform in front of someone else. As a person, I can’t feel the courage to perform to someone. And this someone has actual talent and a pretty voice that I couldn’t surpass. 

I feel the sudden urge to play something for him. It would feel bad just to let him hanging sense I’ve hyped him up enough. 

“All right you asked for it,” I sighed, defeated. “But I’m not as good with the ukulele, so I’ll get the keyboard. I’ll try my best.”

I slide the Roland keyboard next to me. I then take a moment just to look at him. He still has the eagerness of a child with his eyes open wide, and he also seems to be a little ways off from his own world. 

I start hitting some chords on the keyboard as I try to focus mainly on the music and not on anything else. I try to go with one of my grayer songs, since I know I can’t show him all my colors. 

There’s wind in the air

Not even a care

And The birds are just glaring at me

The sky turns to dark

I feel alone at this park

But I know someone’s staring at me

It’s a bit of a stretch to say 

That I don’t care

I may not be in the zone

But I’m always a part of a home.

It’s a little past nine

And I think I might just die 

And I hope no one is around the bend

And if anyone knows

If there’s anywhere left to go,

It’s probably somewhere away 

It’s not much of a stretch to say 

“You won’t care”

I may not be the one

And I’ve never been part of my home.

When I finished the song, I see Grett. It doesn’t seem like he knew what to say.

**GRETT**

My expectations were high, but holy fuck.

Since Sport is a professional writer for other people, nobody really hears his personal songs. 

I catch myself staring at him. He doesn’t look like he’s slept in a week. 

I guess his singing voice kind of reminds me of darker indie bands, but not exactly. His way of singing is spacey and drawn out, and it’s very original.

“You’re amazing.”

“What?”

He looks shocked, kind of like no one has told him that before. I’m sure he has had compliments before, so his shock didn’t make much sense to me.

Compared to me, he is definitely more experienced in setting a tone for music. I wouldn’t mind hearing an album from him.

Sport gives me a quizzical stare. I don’t think anything makes him happy. (Okay maybe he does smile! I just don’t know that)

“Well, critics say that I don’t have the right vocal style to get a hit or whatever.”

“Hey, the critics aren’t always right,” I reply. “You have an incredibly unique voice so you should be proud of it. I’ll try to put the way you sing in words; your voice is spacey and dreamy, but not in an overwhelming way.”

Did I just call him dreamy? What was I thinking? Now he’s going to assume I’m a weirdo or something.

He clears his throat with a few coughs as he faces the wall. 

“I don’t think anyone has told me that.”

Sport paused for even longer. I can’t tell what his deal is. I assume it’s because I’m being annoying. I could be pretty obnoxious sometimes.

“Well, our session is over. Would you like to have it weekly?”

“Can we do it every day?”

“No. That would cost you more than 720 dollars a week. It’s not cheap to get professional help.”

“Wait. I don’t mean professional music business. Can I meet up with you to help me with my “Moon song” cover?”

I’ve always wanted to do a cover of that one, but there was never anyone else to sing it with. I knew a lot of good performers on the site, but I didn’t have anyone who was willing to travel where I lived. And there and then, there was a collab-worthy person right in front of me. 

Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell how excited was. There was nothing in his expression that showed excitement, but there was a tinch of life bubbling up. I could tell that something would happen.

“Alright. Where at?”

“My apartment. I’ll give you my info so we could meet up.”

Sport didn’t verbally respond. He just nodded, grabbed the sheet with my number and LB handle and closed the door. 

**SPORT**

I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the door. I was still in shock.

How could someone give a number ever so casually? My complexion grew warm and unpleasantly red. I couldn’t believe anything that was going on. 

I have only known him for an hour, but I was already feeling some things. It could be a bad sign to fall that fast, but I probably had more stumbling to do. 

===

As soon as I get home, I lay flat on my bed and check my email. It’s jam packed with ads, help and service letters. Just the usual. I open up a separate tab on my browser and enter Grett’s LB handle. I click on his channel link. 

It’s his channel, and it has a homey feel to it. Grett prettied up his apartment with aloe and several other comfort plants. His walls are painted some light shade of blue, and there are fairy-lights up for his night covers. 

I can see why Chema was interested in his work. 

Like every other artist, he covered Radiohead’s Creep. I was surprised that he didn’t censor the swears. He honestly doesn’t seem like a guy who would curse like that (guess I really don’t know him yet).

He played several songs that were from anime. I wasn’t entirely expecting that part either.

Something that I noticed was that he never changes pronouns. I’ve checked. That’s usually a symbol of inclusion for the LGBT+ community, but I try not to assume anymore about him. 

His take on Lana Del Ray’s “video games” almost made me feel the same energy as the time when he first sang to me at room 5. It almost felt like he was asking me out through the laptop screen. I had to shut the tab so I wouldn’t overheat my apartment. 

After 7 songs from him, I got a ping from Grett now that I’ve added him to my contacts already. I think I was getting a bit too attached. 

__________________________

**Session 1: Chat with Grett**

Grett: yo! 

Sport: hi.

Grett: can we meet up at my place 5pm tomorrow? 

Sport: okay. Can you send or copy and paste the moon song lyrics? I’ve never heard that before.

Grett: sure!

Grett: 

I'm lying on the moon

My dear, I'll be there soon

It's a quiet and starry place

Time's we're swallowed up

In space we're here a million miles away

There's things I wish I knew

There's no thing I'd keep from you

It's a dark and shiny place

But with you my dear

I'm safe and we're a million miles away

We're lying on the moon

It's a perfect afternoon

Your shadow follows me all day

Making sure that I'm

Okay and we're a million miles away

Sport: wow! That’s beautiful. 

__________________________

From what I know, he probably will want to post that to his YouTube channel. 

And If I know anything about channels with above 550k subscribers, it’s that there will be those goddamn shippers in the comment section. I would not be able to deal with that.

I mean, we’re singing a pretty intimate song together. We’re going to look pretty gay. Hell, we might as well cover the thumbnail with hearts and rainbows at this point. 

I’ll do the cover with him, but I cannot let thousands of other people watch me having a breakdown.


	2. Out Of Touch

I was shivering as I took my headphones off. The Moon Song is a beautiful song, and it’s too beautiful for me. It would just never work.

I knew that Grett wanted to cover this more than anything, but I knew I couldn’t do it. I never want to reveal anything about myself outside my career. I’ve been doing so well staying underground, so why should I ruin that?

__________________________

Chat with Grett  
session 1

Sport: I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it to your cover recording tomorrow. I’m extremely busy. 

Grett: oh! That’s not a big deal. Tell me when you’re ready!

Sport: thanks for understanding. I’ll wait until next Thursday to see you.

Grett: actually, I’ll enroll for Tuesday’s as well. 

Sport: wow. You must really like this. Most people don’t do that. 

Grett: well I’m not most people! TTYL Mr. Raventorch! :)

Sport: please just call me Sport… we’re about the same age and you’re probably older than me

Grett: :)

Sport: ?

Grett: :) :) :) (: (: (:

__________________________

+++

Weeks passed, and I let Grett take 2 sessions a week. It’s mostly because he practically begged for it. It was more of a request he wanted, and clients shouldn’t be dissatisfied. 

On the first day, I had to witness Grett and Chema meeting each other at the studio. They both went nuts, and proceeded to ask for autographs. That must’ve been surreal.

Our sessions were going pretty well. He would normally have to ask me specific questions about notation. He mostly just studied chords, so he had a hard time writing a melody. 

I’ve been trying to make myself a harsher critic for Grett, but I would feel terrible if I said anything bad about him. He needs the feedback, but my crush on him isn’t helping. 

I don’t think I’ve crushed on anyone that fast. Weird. But it wasn’t that weird. 

After two weeks of sessions, we’ve managed to go over the basics. In hindsight, Grett’s audition song needed help. A good deal of it didn’t rhyme, which was acceptable to a certain degree. I told him that I didn’t exactly understand what mood he was trying to portray, but neither did he. 

When I actually got in a mood to criticize, I would try to stay in a certain range. I would try to not be too degrading, I wouldn’t ever insult him. I also tried not to get all gushy, which was kind of hard to do.

Besides my criticism, Tuesday and Thursday became my two favorite days.

“Sport, thanks for helping me enhance my song.”

I glance down at his new lyrics. They look far more rhythmic.

“What emotion are you trying to get across? Words aren’t everything.”

“I’d like to think that this song is the aftermath of falling in love. This should be what it feels like.”

I’ve got to give him points for originality. Most people write what becomes after and not before love. I’ve never seen that side either (mainly because I’ve never experienced it) but I think he did well.

He continues. “I honestly think I’ve changed the whole song. Regardless, it doesn’t even repeat that much anymore. But I like this better.”

**GRETT**

I think I’ve finally made something I could be happy with. 

For my first few sessions with Sport, it seemed like he was always worried around me. Now that I know he was criticizing me, I feel extremely dumb. I don’t think he really wanted to say anything bad at first because he didn’t want me to think bad of anything I was doing. But again, he’s only helping me out. 

I took the subway to my apartment. It’s gross, loud, and crowded down there, but it does it’s job. I get off at the third stop and I only have to walk a block, which Isn’t too shabby for street travel. I’m also not entirely used to the city since I came from a suburb of Ontario. America is honestly not that different than Canada. It’s not that big of a deal. Nope.

As soon as I got to my apartment, I launched myself at my PC. I downloaded some kind of music-scoring app for a music scholarship almost six years ago. Somehow, it’s reliable for what I wanted to do with my song. Even though ukulele by itself sounds full enough, I felt like I had to add in more parts. This was going to be big. 

**CHEMA**

One big highlight for me in the past few weeks was meeting with Grett Grayshop and getting to work with him. He can come off as a little weird at first to people he admires, but he’s a solid friend and coworker.

As strange as it seems, Grett and I were geeking out for each other on about the same level. I wasn’t surprised to see that he was a dork, but I wasn’t prepared for our conversations of praise. 

Maybe I might have forgotten that he had his own personality outside his YouTube. I might have made the mistake of thinking that he’d be any different from his online persona. All that aside, I think we may be friends now! 

Another thing I’ve noticed about Grett is that he seems really close with Sport now. When Sport and Grett started working with each other, something seemed to click with them. From a professional standpoint, it’s good to have a positive relationship with a writer, but things can get thrown off if you are being intimate with them on a certain level. 

I’ve heard The two performed outside for practice. The song is rough and incomplete, but I think it’s really coming along. 

I wonder if Nectarine knows about this. Probably not. She hasn’t been local in awhile due to her tour on drums. I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard from her since she’s been so busy. 

**SPORT**

The song is panning out better than I would’ve thought. This is probably because Grett has been working so hard on his passion project. And by that, I mean every time he comes back for help, he’s filled many pages in his notebook about ideas of better chord progressions, story points and proper structure. 

He especially impressed me the time he started up an entire drum kit program where he told me specifically where he wanted the snares and the claps to hit.

Even though he’s doing great, I’m afraid that he may be overworking himself. All the work he’s putting in must be hard with all the other things he must have to do. 

All of that for a passion project? I remember when I had a passion project like that. I was stuck for most of it. It got finished eventually, but the result wasn’t very satisfying for me. It felt like everything had been done before and done better by someone else.

+++

“Hey Sport? Do you wanna go to the karaoke bar tonight? I kinda feel like making fun of people get drunk and hear them sing off-key right now.”

“I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“Oh come on! We’re friends now, right? I wouldn’t have asked if we weren’t.”

This was a tough decision. In a professional setting like this, I shouldn’t do something like this. Usually, I’d decline. But this is a different situation. Grett is different. I usually don’t make exceptions to anything relating to my job. Ok, I never did.

Then he got up and held the door and looked at me, waiting for an answer. I didn’t have the heart to say no. But I also didn’t have the heart to say anything. 

So I just nodded. I hope he took it as a yes.

**GRETT**

I felt kind of anxious preparing for the karaoke dinner. 

What if it’s not good enough for him? It’s very trashy. Okay, it’s not that trashy. I’m just feeling harsh.

I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt so nervous over something so stupid! Usually I take my friends to dinner to make fun of tipsy off-key singers. I don’t think I’ve ever made this a one-friend thing. Last time I did this I brought over three of my friends when I was in college. 

But Sport seems different than a lot of my friends. He’s very distant and sometimes doesn’t talk. When he does talk, he’s very direct. He knows when to give me the right advice. Things like this would usually put me off with most people but Sport keeps his distance in a way that makes me feel safe. 

I think that’s what sets him apart from many others. 

I pull out my phone to text him that I’m ready to head out. I hope that I don’t make him disappointed in anything about this meet-up tonight.

**SPORT**

The karaoke bar consists mostly of disco and black lights to set a party mood. I feel a little odd entering this loud and brash place full of lights. I thought of leaving until I noticed that the bar wasn’t that big and there were about nine other people there. But it was still loud with the music and laughter.

I nervously tried to get around the tables until I found Grett in the distance. I think he’s ordering a drink from the bar. I walk up to him (and try to make this less awkward) by standing next to him. He turns around and smiles at me. 

“Oh hi! I dunno, but I thought you weren’t going to be here. You seemed a little apprehensive.”

“It would be dull of me not to come.”

I wished I could’ve told him that I wasn’t a fan of this mood at all. 

Grett didn’t come off to me as someone who drinks, but what do I know about him? We only talk about music together. 

Another thing is off is that this was supposed to be a karaoke bar, but it seems to be only select singers performing. Maybe this is a Thursday thing? What do I know about social situations anyway?

**GRETT**

So far, this dinner was going pretty well. The waiters were as friendly as always, the atmosphere seemed bubbly and full of life with singing that was much better than normal. The only problem was that Sport wasn’t looking at me. Okay, that was a big problem. I wanted him to look at me. That was a core reason to bring him here, and my priority wasn't working out.

Wait. Why would I want him to look at me?

We look at each other at least twice a week. I even gave him my number so we could keep track of each other’s ideas. I just didn’t want to drag him somewhere he didn't like and make him suffer from boredom.

Maybe because I was drunk I felt the need to center my attention on him. Was that a drunk thing? Who knows. 

“Sport? Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I think so. It’s just loud.”

“Oh. How about I perform on stage?”

“Wait. Isn’t it a professional thing?”

“Well, I think that this is a limited performance here. As soon as the gig ends at seven-something, I’m going to sign up.”

I look at him, and he looks a little better than before. 

I hope that I won’t discourage him. I want him to get me. But I don’t know why I want this from him. 

+++

At Six-fifty, the band picked up equipment and sat at the bar. I had nervous jitters from waiting for so long to perform properly. Fortunately, I was able to strike up an actual conversation with Sport that didn’t feel as awkward as normal. I asked him a really simple question so nothing seemed weird.

“Other than music, what do you really like?”

“Snakes,” he said without hesitation. “I really like snakes a lot. A lot of people won’t take me seriously with snakes, but I love them a lot.”

I let out a chuckle, even though it was probably inappropriate.

“Gah, not you too.”

“N-no! I just think it’s kinda cute!”

**SPORT**

I tried to process what he said.

Did I hear that right? 

I tried not to burn up in front of him.

**GRETT**

I noticed that the band was completely cleared and the clock on the wall read 7:01. I had to sign up.

Pushing the chair into the table, I ran up to the D.J. 's platform.

“Yo, we just opened up for suggestions. You’re first up, bud.” She was chewing on a candy cigarette and staring me down with her droopy eyes. 

“Good! I’d like to sing “Out of Touch” by Daryl Oates and-“

“Bud. Ya’ don’t have to tell me who played it originally. It's the first result.”

“Kay’ thanks!”

I decided on an 80s song because karaoke bars are big fans of that kind of stuff for some reason. I looked around, and there were definitely more people than before. I could see at least thirty people sitting in the seats. 

I prop myself on the neon-lighted stage. I scan the room and find that a good deal of the customers are looking in my direction. Being on a stage can be an empowering feeling, but it can make you feel insignificant and small. In the case of this karaoke bar, the informality of the event really didn’t sway me off that much.

As the drum-machine beat kicked in and the lyrics appeared on the screen, I shifted myself into full performance mode. 

**SPORT**

Grett’s song choice was extremely off. As soon as he got on stage, he looked at me for a second and waited for the heavy drum machine to kick in as he tapped his foot to the beat.

Shake it up is all that we know

Using up the bodies as we go

I’m waking up to fantasy

The shades all around aren’t the

colors we used to see

It wasn’t his kind of song at all. He’s more for the fun and modern songs that have a specific structure. Of course he sang it well. He did great, but it wasn’t what I was used to. This was as eighties an eighties song could get. 

Broken ice still melts in the sun

And times that are broken can often be one again

We're soul alone

And soul really matters to me

Take a look around

By now, some of the people who were lazing at the bar got up and started to dance a little. They were all very drunk, but they looked happy. 

You're out of touch

I'm out of time

But I'm out of my head when you're

not around

By now it was clear that he was enjoying this too much. When he was dancing, every step took him closer to the end of the stage. I was afraid that he was going to take a step too far and fall off the stage, hurting himself in the process.

As the song went on, more people started getting up and half dancing to the song. I still sat down in concern, watching his movements nervously as the speakers drowned out the sound of chaos at the bar. I could’ve sworn that there were more people here than before. Everything seemed more loud and crowded. I felt like blacking out.

At the last verse, I saw that Grett was centered on the stage, scaring me a little less. 

When the song ended, there was a loud cheering in the air. Grett put the mic on the floor. He looked insanely happy, beaming from ear to ear. 

Then he looked at me and smiled even brighter. I didn’t even know how that was possible.

After the cheering and howling died down a little, I saw that he was heading for me. 

“So, do you want to see what’s next?”

“I want to leave.”

**GRETT**

He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to be here. 

Now I know I fucked up. I grabbed my heavier coat and I walked to the door.

As soon as I turned around, I felt a hand grab hold of my wrist.

“Grett. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t like this. I’m just overwhelmed with the people. Do you know any quieter places?”

It felt like a big weight fell off my shoulder. It was good to know that I wasn’t disappointing him. 

+++

I really shouldn’t have tried too hard to bring him into an environment with music. Most people who are into music don’t mind crowds, loudness and dancing at bars. I guess Sport was an exception to this idea. He didn’t like it at all.

As Sport and I walked down the alleyway, I started to regret several of my Decisions. I wish I could start the night over again in a more quiet and peaceful place. Maybe he didn’t like the fact that I sometimes drink. At least I was sure that I was sobered by now. 

“Sport, look. I am sorry for dragging you into an environment that you were uncomfortable with. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Grett, you shouldn’t have to. You really shouldn’t. Even though I wasn’t a big fan of the overall mood, you were the highlight of my whole night.”

Oh. That kind of sounded like a flirt. I could’ve been reading it wrong. I mean, He looked really agitated when we left. He must’ve really hated the mood enough to call me his “highlight”.

“Ummm, do you want to get ice cream? I know a place that’s only four blocks away? You up?”

“Sure. Ice cream sounds good.”

+++

We ended up sharing a large cup full of strawberry ice cream scoops. We did not have the money left to buy two separate cones.

The busboy who was picking up some of the silverware gave us a glance. He half smiled at us and approached our table.

“Are you two on a date?”

I instantly felt myself freeze up.

Wow. Am I making this feel like a date? I guess it’s a very couple-y thing to share ice cream. Should we be dating? Oh. 

As I was internally panicking, I heard Sport answer, “maybe.”

The busboy winked at me and started to clean other tables.

As soon as we were clear of him, Sport laid his head down on the table

“I may be having a brain freeze,” Sport got out of his seat. “I’m going to go back home. You can finish the ice cream.”

Before I had any time to stop him, he was already gone. The only thing he left behind were thirty dollars and a gel-pen. 

Huh. Maybe I did fuck this up. 

===


	3. Chapter 3

**CHEMA**

Becoming a pop-star is surprisingly not what I expected it to feel like. My childhood dreams built my fantasy to be at a god like stage of existence. It was all that I really wanted growing up. To be able to share your ideas with the world, interact with others you wouldn’t normally talk to and the whole fame part. Honestly, being famous was one of my favorite and least favorite things. I loved being recognized by strangers on the street just after my online pop-star personality blew up online, but there were definitely creeps who made the fame a whole lot more daunting. Still, there are some fans who show up, inspired by my personality who make my day just a bit brighter.

Out of all the things my ambitious career has brought up, I’m most grateful for the friends I’ve met along the way. The best-best friends I’ve made were definitely at my recording studio.

When I first met Sport, he was turned away from everyone, eyes glued to his laptop and ears covered with headphones. I thought he was incapable of human emotion. I absolutely wanted to scream some fun into him, since he had none of it. He was nothing like his sister, Nectarine, who is a drummer in her underground rock band called “Rapture”. She was a chaotic and teasing mess who was sometimes scarily smooth with her words. When the two siblings interacted, I noticed that Sport let himself have a bit of fun and Nectarine grew worried-not necessarily in a scared way- but in an endearing and calm way. 

Nectarine knew who I was since she was already a fan of my work, but I felt bad that I didn’t know what Rapture was. With similar interest in other things like food, favorite shows and artists, we quickly became really good friends! I don’t think any of my friends in High School or even college knew me as well as she did. 

It took a whole lot longer to earn Sport’s trust. I didn’t know how to befriend him at first, so I decided to get Sport to help me write specific songs with specific themes.

“I know that I’m more of that ‘summer hit’ and ‘Feel good banger’ kind of girl, but can you help me write something more empowering?”

I found out what drove him was a challenge. After writing about three promising songs, we became real friends. 

+++

It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Nectarine in person. Rapture has been doing better than ever, and they’re somewhere on the indie charts now. Me being Nectarine’s friend helped popularize the band. We constantly promoted each other on social media. 

I do miss her, and I can tell that Sport does too. 

Today, he told me that he came back to the studio instead of his apartment and slept on his piano bench yesterday night. He really didn’t want to walk back home, and I felt a twinge of concern tangle in my throat.

“Sport, honey! What happened last night? Oh my god, were you drunk?”

He stared at me with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“No, Chema. I know I didn’t drink yesterday. I needed to stay perfectly sober for Grett-”

“Wow! You took him out already! You’re moving really fast.” 

“No! You’ve got it wrong! We went out to a karaoke bar to discuss important-you know- client and writer work.”

Even though Sport protested it, I knew that he was trying to hide his feelings from the red that was creeping up his ears.

“Sport. Don’t try to hide anything from me! You’re not even good at hiding your feelings for your client! I know how you look at him. I’ve been working alongside you for nearly four years now, and I’ve never seen you look so obsessed with another person!”

Sport loses it, if he ever did lose it, it would be now. His head was propped into his hands, his legs crossed, and he was grunting in defeat. 

**SPORT**

Chema is absolutely right, as much as I hate to admit it. I am obsessed with Grett, more than anyone I have ever worked with- been with- known.

I definitely saw my affections towards him as a distraction and inconvenience to my hard work in the first weeks. Now, I can’t help but want him near me, I wanted to pull him tight to me and kiss all of his stupid, pretty freckles on his idiodic, beautiful face. I just wanted him. I might as well just write an entire fucking song about him, and I would do it if I had no impulse control at all. The song would be sweet and be so cheesy that even my writing skills couldn’t help my gushing.

I spent the whole morning looking through emails of applications, other people I have worked with and a bunch of junk mail I didn’t care about. Anything to distract me from anything that happened yesterday night was fine for me. 

Out of mindless scrolling on my laptop, I hear a ping from my back pocket. And then another and another. I pick up my phone and gawk when I see who it is.

———————————————————

Fruit-brat: Spooooooooort! 

Fruit-brat: SPOrt!!

Fruit-brat: I miss you, lil’ shit. Please, can we talk?

Snakelord: no

Snakelord: jk, what is it? 

Fruit-brat: I had a band-fight with rapture today. I’m scared. :’(

Snakelord: oh. What started it?

Fruit-brat: our biggest hit, “Nudge her away” is being overshadowed by a song that Recker, our vocalist doesn’t like at all. We are tired of his shit a lot, but we cannot lose him. If a band loses a vocalist, chances are that it’ll split.

Fruit-bat: to be really honest, I think Recker’s just going through a rough time right now 

Fruit-bat: I think he needs a break

Snakelord: yikes. Rapture without Recker would probably not cut it to be real and honest.

Snakelord: but Rapture without Nectarine would crash before it could get up again. Your drumming is what keeps Rapture alive.

Fruit-brat: shit! Don’t make me cry, I’m eating dinner with the band! 

Fruit-brat: oh! Chema told me that you’ve taken someone out to a bar!

Snakelord: Can we not talk abt this?

Fruit-brat: who’s the lucky man? 😳😳😳

Snakelord: fuck you. He’s a client, and I don’t think you’d know who he is anyway. You pretty much only listen to alternative grunge. 

Fruit-brat: actually, I already know who Grett is. Chema kinda already was a fan of him if you forgot? She forced me to watch his covers. I’m surprised that you were the one who fell for him haha

Snakelord: ok, that was rude. I thought that your nosy ass was oblivious to something for once. And I am not falling for a client! That would be low of me! 

Fruit-brat: can you for once not let your profession stop you from living your gay and beautiful dream? That’d be nice, for you, me and everyone. 

Snakelord: TTYL.

Fruit-brat: ok, coward. 

—————————————————————

I snap my phone back on my desk and continue sifting through mail. Even  
Although I’ve been trying to use email as a distraction to emotion, my conversation with Nectarine is making things harder. 

Can you for once not let your profession stop you from living your gay and beautiful dream?

I could hear it in her voice. She really did care, even if she was a big shit about it. I wondered if Chema probably hooked Grett and Nectarine together as friends via texting. Knowing Chema, it wouldn’t make sense if she didn’t. Grett was definitely a fan of Nectarine; I’ve seen him wear a tee-shirt with Rapture’s logo before. 

I’m positive that Grett wouldn’t guess that Nectarine was anything related to me. Despite being twins, we don’t have much in common other than the fact that we are both in the music industry, just two very different paths. She’s a lead drummer and I work behind the scenes.

I still have work today, and tomorrow. Chema keeps telling me that I should cut my work on weekends to clear room to relax, but I cannot afford work off. People want help songwriting more than I could’ve ever predicted. 

But again, I should probably be a little easier on myself. Maybe I should take a break and stretch out a bit. 

**GRETT**

Today is a perfect day to get caught up with my work, the parts of the songwriting process that aren’t clean yet, and regretting my decisions from yesterday.

Even though a day has passed already, I can’t stop dreading everything I was responsible for yesterday night. I know that it isn’t right to drag people to things they don’t want to do, but I wished that my overwhelming want to become Sport’s friend drove me to do unreasonable things like get to a specifically extroverted environment full of drunk people and bad singers (including me, I guess). 

I wanted to throw my face into my PC, clone myself just to kick myself in the nose, and then gnash my teeth into an anvil so I would have to keep my stupid mouth closed forever. 

The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Sport right now. If my four months of “working” with him have taught me anything, It’s that he doesn’t like disturbances, so it’s clear that he wouldn’t want me bugging him now.

I turn back to my work and look at the song that is still in progress. I have to admit, It looks much better. I play it back a few times just to make sense out of it, and it does make sense, thanks to Sport’s constructive criticism and help. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get any close to this far into this without his help. I’d say that I was proud of myself, but Sport should be the one who gets the credit. 

After revising my work for what felt like the eight-hundredth time, I opened up my chat app, almost texted Sport, but then moved my cursor over to chat to Nectarine, who was the drummer of Rapture, a band that I am actually a big fan of. Thanks to Chema, I got in contact with her, and lost my shit when I found out that she also wanted to talk to me. A big win! Having two powerful figures in the music industry as friends is extremely cool.

———————————————

Grett: Hi, I don’t know if we’re really friends yet, but I kind of need someone to vent to right now. I don’t know if you’re open to call anyone like me, but I am in such a crappy mood that I feel like this. Thanks.

Nectarine: sure. I’ll be ready in about ten minutes. That alright with you?

Grett: thanks. I’ll be ready. 

———————————————

After ten minutes of revising and looking over things that I was working on, I hear my phone ring and pick it up. 

“Hi, this is Nectarine. You ok?”

Her voice comes in on the other line. It seems that there is a crowd somewhere near she is calling, and I feel bad for bothering her when she might be busy.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m just a little stressed right now. But I wanted to talk with you with some issues that I have been facing such as, self doubt, emotional pain and social skills that I didn’t think I needed help with until now.”

“And you’re asking a hard-rock drummer to help you? Ok, that could’ve been rough. Sorry. I’ll help.”

I can tell that she’s chuckling on the other line, but it's honest. I can see that she means well. With her around, I feel confident enough to tell her what’s wrong. 

“So there’s this guy-”

“Does he happen to be surprisingly short, highly introverted and too closed off?”

“Wait,” I chuckle nervously, “You know him? Did Chema really tell you who Sport Raventorch was? Are you guys really that close now?”

Suddenly, she’s bursted out in laughter, and her phone must be close to her face. I have to move the phone out of my ear to protect my hearing. 

“Chema wouldn’t have to tell me who he is! He’s my brother, my twin brother for fuck’s sake!”

She’s in hysterics, and I’m in dumbfounded disbelief. 

Sport and Nectarine have been twins all this time? 

I’m sure I knew a lot about Nectarine, what songs she’s featured in, but she’s never been public about her family at all. 

“WHAT??? Oh my god, I can’t believe it! I asked for a place to vent, but now this information is too much for me to take!”

“Hey! Don’t get that worried about it! The world is a whole lot smaller than we’re led to believe. Anyway, what do you want to talk about my brother? I’m all ears.”

“You didn’t have to make this an awkward thing!”

I feel my face flush from embarrassment, but I tell her anyway. 

“I did something incredibly awful, Nectarine. I brought him to a Karaoke bar full of people that he wasn’t comfortable with, and we didn’t get to talk honestly over the noise. I should’ve known better.” 

She doesn’t actually come back with any snide remarks this time, but I think she’s thinking of something.

“If I could go back to yesterday, I would’ve just let him decide where to go. I’d let him do anything with our time, even if I didn’t like where he took me. I’d still be with him, and his company and better would be enough. I would do anything to make sure that he was in a good mood.”

“You should tell him that.”

“N-no. I shouldn’t. I think he just sees me as no more than a client.”

“Well, what would you want him to think of you as?”

“I’ll think about it.”

And then I hang up. 

**NECTARINE**

As I feel the buzz vibrate on my cheek, I know that he hung up on me. I slide my phone into my big pocket and lean on a post.

I take my sticks out of my bag and start tapping them together. It’s become something I’ve made a habit, just banging the sticks together when I want things to make sense. Rhythm makes sense, and other things should make sense too. 

How could anyone be so oblivious to his feelings? When he was talking about Sport, I kind of wanted to yell at him, “You like him, dork!”, but I didn’t know if we were good enough friends for that. 

Instead, I just turned off my thoughts about it and waited for the bus. 

Becoming a traveling musician was an experience I wouldn’t have ever predicted. At first, I was tethered to one spot my whole life, and now I’m treating the airport like a backyard that I just can show up at. 

My hood is up and my sunglasses are on. I’m not in the mood to get any autographs or crowds anytime soon. I sure do love my fans, but it’s nice to live for myself when I can. 

Being in a big band for me is nothing like it looks like in the movies. Bands are usually very tight knit, always together like a family full of punks who care about each other. We’re more like wild business partners, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I like them a whole lot, and they like me. Being too close would make the fights too much to handle. 

Now, I’m thinking about my brother again. I didn’t expect him to care so much about his songs or anything. Now he loves someone. I know he does, but he doesn’t want to tell me anything. I get it, I’ve never been good with love-stuff and I never will be. However, I know what it looks like when other people have fallen for others.

I’ve known enough people to be able to have at least a vague idea of how people feel about each other. I’ve seen people who have fallen in love and people who fall apart from each other in just my band circle alone. 

In Sport’s case, I’ve never actually seen Grett and him interact with one another, but I’m just imagining that they’d be happy together. That’s all. 

I look up, and I can see the car that was going to pick me up come around the corner. I hastily shove my baggage into my arm as I move closer to the street. 

As I get on, I just wish for Sport to be happy for once. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?

**GRETT**

As I place down my phone, I feel knots in my brain tangle up like loose cords in a bag. I probably have some kind of headache that’s driving me insane.

What do I want Sport to see me as anyway?

I definitely want to be his friend. Not his client, not the weird guy who decided that he wanted two days of time off of a regular schedule, a friend. Being a friend has always been a warm and comforting feeling. It’s a soft blanket that lets you know that someone will come help you and you can help them.

But for some reason, I don’t want to call him just a friend. He’s different from my peers from college, people I’d call family, my neighbors from Canada, and even Chema and Nectarine, people I respect and trust them to respect parts of me.

Sport is more like a friend who I’d rather be with all the time I can be with. I wouldn’t mind scratching all of the later time slots in my day to work with him (including Saturday). I do like the Idea of taking care of him when he gets hungry, sick or sad. Maybe we could make it a thing to get ice cream or some kind of snack when we’re done working hard! And when we finish that, I could show him my setup on my PC! I could-

Soon, realization bangs me aggressively on the head. I don’t want to be his friend, but It’s not because I don’t like him, I like him a lot. I want to go out with him, apparently. I want to go on real dates with him. 

I have been out with other girls and guys before. I know when I want to date someone, usually. I’m not an expert on where to draw the line between platonic and romantic love since they can look exactly the same sometimes. It’s frankly annoying. 

But now, It’s laughable where my feelings are with Sport. I guess I wouldn’t laugh at them, but other people would. If I told him, how would he react? Would he want it? Would he sneer and turn his nose the other way? He’d probably not care, and go back to his laptop with his headphones on after I’d ask. 

But if he did want me, in a mutual dating way, would he look at me more? Would we hold hands? I hope he’d let me kiss him more than once a day if that were the case. 

Then, I think of what It would feel like to have his lips on mine. I wonder about how soft they would be.

Ok! Enough thoughts for today! Time to go to bed. 

It’s still 3:00 pm, but I try to take a nap long enough that will clear my head out. Having too many thoughts at once could make me regret staying up, so I close my eyes and try not to think of Sport.

Unfortunately, things don’t go as planned. 

===


	4. A Walk in The park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// anxiety attack for this chapter

**SPORT**

Today is Saturday, the day where I usually give myself extra work to do. I can’t do that today since Chema told me that if I didn’t take a break, she’d kick me out of the studio herself. Because I trust her, I try my best to stay relaxed. 

Even though I was anxious to get some things done, I plug in my headphones and head out to the large park. 

And since I wanted to avoid crowds, I decided to walk to the park on the path closest to the block I live on. There aren’t many restaurants or attractions there, so there are usually less people. With music in my ears, I feel better when I walk across the leaf-gutted damp roads to get to a park. For a fall day, it doesn’t feel horrible outside for once. The cool breezes feel refreshing on my tired face and the clouds obscure the sun so I don’t get blinded when I head East to the park.

There aren’t many people on the path. The sidewalks are mainly occupied with joggers and friendly dog-walkers as usual. I don’t recognize anyone, probably because I don’t usually open up to neighbors. They probably don’t have my interests, so why open up to them? They probably wouldn’t want it back either. 

I mainly just went outside to walk and appreciate the weather, like any other normal person would. Geese were migrating for the winter and I could see several squirrels running up trees. They have a certain cycle that they have to go through. I don’t know how they could be so consistent that just the weather changing tells them what to do.

After finding a good bench to sit down on, I pull up my laptop and try to read unread emails that were sent to me. I open up my email, and I find that I have over 400 emails. I immediately shut down my computer and sigh.

How is someone like me supposed to relax?

Instead of my emails, I open up my sampler app to look over some of the sounds I have recorded in the past. Most of them are just sounds I made when I visited a music store and just sampled all of the instruments (even though I really didn’t know how to play most of them).

I set my music into a loop and try to get the best sounds out. Once the drums are in set, I try to etch out a realistic bass line. Before I could even think of a good lead in, I heard an inhuman screech. (Or was it a honk?)

Bewildered, I unplugged my headphones and closed my laptop again. I did not believe what I saw when I looked up.

An giant gaggle of geese are surrounding and screeching at one dumb man in the middle. I take a closer look. That was no ordinary dumb man, that was apparently Grett, fenced in by an angry swarm of about 30 geese.

As soon as my brain is able to process what is happening, I take a running start at the birds. 

“Sport!! Please!! The geese aren’t as nice as they look!!”

I wanted to cry. This idiot probably tried to feed all of them, or pet them. He probably did both.

“Please don’t tell me that you tried to feed those little bastards!!!”

“NO!!! That wasn’t- AGH!!”

One goose got high enough and clawed onto his jacket with its feet. Another one nipped his shoelace and immediately bit down on his leg. Just looking at all this filled me with pain. It’s probably not the dumbest situation he’s gotten into. 

Instead of going in and yanking off these geese myself, I instead try to shoo them off, one by one. I screamed at some of the lower birds, scaring them off into the air. I manually reached up to Grett’s head to get the one goose that was now up on top of him. 

“GRETT! You’ve got to scare some of them off!”

“I am not scaring them off. They are just birds!!”

“Yeah, birds that are ambushing you!”

For some reason, none of the geese even try to attack me. They only want to scratch up Grett.

After there were about five left, he probably wanted to run. Instead, I could feel him lightly grabbing onto me from the back. I wish I wasn’t prone to blushing at times like these. 

“A-are you using me as a meat shield?”

“No! I just noticed that you were not being attacked. A simple observation!”

“How about we just stand still,” I whispered to him. “They aren’t that bright. They’ll eventually leave us be.”

For what seemed like an hour, we didn’t move a muscle. Grett was still hugging me from the behind. 

He doesn’t have to hold me this close…

I was pretty sure that he was also shivering. Those birds must’ve done a number on him.

When the geese finally cleared, he slowly let me go. I turned around and grimaced when I saw how many scratches were on his skin and clothes. Even with his scratches, he still looked beautiful as he glistened in the pale of the clouds. 

“Ok. I know not to mess with geese now! Also, If I find geese, I’ll know to bring you around!” 

His lips creased into a lovely yet dorky smile when he said that. I’m in love with a fool. 

**GRETT**

I honestly wasn’t expecting him to go to the park, let alone help me with my goose situation. Ok, maybe it was common sense to help me out with something as stupidly scary as that. 

For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to get pictures with some geese. I lured them all with a slice of bread I had with me. At first, I was able to attract a small line of four to the loaf. It quickly grew to 6, to 10, to 30-something. And once I let them at the loaf, they expected I had more.

Honestly, I feel really bad for dragging him into that (I really don’t know how I managed it). When he was helping me, I saw a serious glint in his eyes that only he had as he screamed at the geese. His concentration and composition was a lot for me to handle (on top of the geese, of course). 

I was extremely grateful for my encounter with him. If it weren’t for Sport, I’d be a dead man.

+++

I wipe off some dirt and white feathers off of my face and then turn my attention to Sport. He brought his whole music set up with him and shoved it back in his nap sack.

All of a sudden, I had an idea.

“Sport! We should get lunch?”

He curled his eyebrow and then opened up his phone.

“Hmm. 1:30. I should be able to fit that in.”

“What do you mean, fit it in? It’s Saturday…”

“Oh. Right.”

I plan out the best place for us to eat. He probably wouldn’t be fond of a place like a pub. Even on the slowest days, they seem to be packed full. I don’t think he drinks. I don’t know why, but I think that he’d be a cafe person.

“We… we could go to the park cafe! It’s a short walk and it's nice there.”

He just nodded, and walked with me.

And then it hit me. This kind of felt like a second date with him for me, but I wouldn’t admit that. I’m his client for songwriting and he probably just sees this as a work outing. 

“Hey Grett?”

“Yeah?”

“How did the geese get you?”

“It’s a short and eventful story. Tell you bout’ it later.”

We talked more on the way to the restaurant than I thought we would. Mostly, when he does talk, he’s nagging me about my song’s progress. Now, we’ve melted into a casual, almost intimate conversation. 

When we arrive at the cafe, we wait in a short line. Even though I was willing to pay, he picked out his wallet.

“I’ll pay for my meal. I don’t want you to pay for that much.”

Even though I really did want to pay for his lunch too, fighting with him wasn’t any good. I ordered a BLT+avocado sandwich with baby potatoes on the side. Sport ordered a breakfast salad. He insisted on paying for the coffee. I let him do that too. 

“Thanks for your order, boys! Would you like the couple’s discount-”

“OH. We’re not dating,” Sport butted in. “We’re just getting food.”

“Alright. Let me know if you ever get together!”

I could see why she’d think that…

`+++

As we wait at our table, Sport buries his head in his hands again. I’ve noticed that he does that when he’s under some kind of stress or embarrassment.

“Hey, you alright?”

He gets up from his hands and takes a sip of his coffee. 

“Yes, my default is just being under some kind of stress.”

I laugh at that, not to make fun of him really. I don’t know why I laughed. 

I think he laughs as well, but I can’t be certain since he’s so quiet. 

“So… you’re going to tell me how you were surrounded by deadly birds?”

“Is that all you’re worried about!?”

+++

When we ate our food, I spent half of the time staring at Sport, and the other half actually eating. It’s really hard to read someone who barely shows emotions at all.

There are times where I can read him, and that’s when he’s being passionate about things like songwriting. Even if I know he’s tired, I’m glad to know that he cares. 

After we finish our food he refills his coffee instantly. I wonder why he drinks so much coffee sometimes. Even most people I know who have to be caffeinated don’t need this much.

“Grett, why are you so nice to me?”

I’m put off a little when he asks. What does he mean by that? I’m always nice to him and not being nice to him would make even less sense!

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just… you don’t treat me like someone that you need assistance from. You are just so exceedingly… I don’t know… you take time out of your days just to do things for me.”

I don’t know what he means by that.

“It’s called being a friend, silly!”

I lower my hand and mess up Sport’s hair playfully. He complains a lot less than I thought he would. 

“Honestly Sport, even though you may think I’m just your client, It’s really not just that. If I didn’t like you, I probably wouldn’t take so much time out of my week for meetings!” 

**SPORT**

He… he really didn’t answer my question. 

I kept on thinking that he’d walk away from me when I started heading home, but he didn’t. I didn’t want to say anything at all, since that would probably scare him off, making him go out with his friends.

Wait… I don’t actually see him talk about his friends much. Or at all. Maybe it's bad to assume that such a fun guy like him would have a truckload of pals to talk about.

I didn’t mention it, even though I really wanted to.

I was in a hard place in between wanting to talk and also wanting to leave Grett behind. Neither seemed right. Awkwardly, I continued slowly walking with Grett behind me, easily a half foot taller than I am. 

I wanted him to go somewhere else.

It wasn’t because I didn’t like him (I like him a lot), but I just wanted him to waste time with someone other than me. I looked down at my feet and pretended that I wasn’t there. Instead, I felt like I was alone in a sealed box, only with myself to be worried about. I would be safe, protected and content. 

The same four words kept replaying in my head.

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him. I don’t-

I felt myself stop walking. I didn’t continue for awhile.

Shivers ran up and down through me. I tried my best not to cry as the mantra looped and played in my head that wanted to burst into pieces.

Before the sensation got any worse, I felt warm hands encase me.

“Sport… please be alright…breathe deep...”

_And then I felt submerged underwater..._

**GRETT**

He was having some kind of anxiety attack. 

I threw off his backpack, then I picked him up and put him on the grass. This was the worst I’ve ever seen him. He wasn’t exactly screaming, but he was trying to muffle himself. Incoherent murmurs and cries came out.

To be real, I didn’t actually know what I was doing. 

Should I call an ambulance? Probably not. He’d kill me.

“Sport, If you can hear me, let it out! LET IT OUT!”

Even though he’d probably hate it, I tried to hold him tighter. I felt his heart hammer violently against me. I tried not to let him feel too shaky in my arms. It was getting harder to see with my eyes getting cloudy from my tears. He was breathing now, steady enough to make me feel better about this. I tried to hold him closer, but not to close.

He needed to breathe. 

For what seemed like a whole day of hugging and worrying, Sport’s eyes shot open. He then stared at me with lazy eyes. I’ve never been more relieved to see his jade green eyes judging me.

“Whut happened”, he sputtered out, speech slurred. “Did ya’ help… save… me...”

Slowly, I saw him lift his head up. I was amazed to see him recover this fast. When he was at the low point of his anxiety attack, I was convinced that he wouldn’t move like this. I was ready to let him go, but it was hard to let him go as he cupped his hands around my face…

And then he kissed me. I simply stopped thinking for a split second as our lips made contact. I wanted to kiss back, but his hands slipped away and then he quickly passed out on the ground.

He’s not going to remember that. I definitely will though.

**SPORT**

Everything felt hazy when I woke up. I thought I would end up back where I left off, probably on grass, having an anxiety attack. 

Instead, the ground feels too soft and warm to be grass. I woke up in bed. It wasn’t my bed, though. I must’ve been out for a while seeing that the sun had already gone down. I was pretty sure that I don’t own yellow bed sheets, I’d never paint my walls blue, and I don’t have any plants. 

As my senses came back to me, I heard music in another room playing softly. I could recognize it as a “Rebel Rebel” cover on a guitar. It didn’t sound like it was in English and it sounded way more relaxing than Bowie’s rock version.

It could’ve put me back to sleep, but it's hard to stay still when you don’t   
know where you are. After some gears churned in my head, I put together that I must be in Grett’s apartment or home. It should’ve been easier for him just to leave me on that street corner. But again, he’s willing to take time 

I pull off the covers and step out. As I cautiously checked the surroundings of the home, I felt eased. Something about the way he designed his interior feels warm and simply him. The main room has wall tiles made out of wood in contrast to his sky—blue paint. He has put down several 

Then I see him propped on a couch. He’s wearing a new set of clothes, a tan blouse that neatly hugs his frame and a pair of gray sweatpants. His fingers are out in front of him, strumming a peaceful tune and he’s singing in what seemed to be Portuguese. His wooden guitar sits proudly in his lap painted a tame reddish-brown. He looks peaceful and concentrated.

“W-wow,” I cringed at my voice as I heard it. “Didn’t know you spoke Portuguese.”

As soon as he sees me, he looks me straight in the eyes. He stops singing but keeps strumming his chords.

“Umm I’m not fluent,” he replies. “I just heard a cover in this language, and I liked it!”

I smiled at him. I knew it was genuine for once because it just came to me, unlike several smiles I’ve had to fake before.

“Can I sit next to you?” I suggest.

“Y-yeah! Sure. Just take it easy, please. I’m just going to play the song again if that’s alright with you.”

...Zero a zero

Deu mole eu vou

Você deu mole então eu marco um gol

Zero a zero

Você venceu

Passe amanhã e pegue o que é seu...

If I were to be honest, I’d listen to his singing forever. Sometimes when he really gets in the right mood, I feel the pure sunlight pouring out. Like a pleasant sunny day, I’d like to bask in it. And everyone has to see the sun, whether they can handle it or not.

And I don’t know if I can.

**GRETT**

It’s around 7:30 now. When I had to tuck him into bed, I felt the phantom touch of Sport’s lips for a second. I tried to brush off the feeling, but it couldn’t fade away as hard as I tried. 

I’m still not convinced that he likes me that way though. Being knocked out can make sane people do crazy things. One of those things being intimacy that may be a little too close! A little out of the No-Homo range, but yep!

It's okay! Totally fine. I can totally handle that… yeah….

OKAY!!! Maybe I can’t! If I put it out of my head for a while, the thought could just poof or something.

But not when he’s here. And he’s by my side, listening to me play a song.

But this is normal! I have to play random songs for him all the time! And no, I am not fantasizing about him and our domestic life in the future either! That would be a waste of time!!

When I strike the last E major 9th, He’s smiling at me with a warm smile that I only see sometimes. Mesmerized, I watch him grab his phone (that I forgot to take out of his pocket) and check the time. The smile faded away.

“I’ve got to go.”

Something in my heart drops. I forgot about that part. The part that he doesn’t care for me like I care for him.

“No. You have to rest. You can stay in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, but my home-”

“Your health is more important, Sport! I can’t let you go yet. You haven’t even eaten a third meal.”

I don’t like it when he’s stubborn. I especially don’t like it when he’s stubborn against his own safety.

“Grett, I know you’re being nice and all, but I really have to go. It’s for you.”

I stand up and put my guitar on the side. 

“Please. Stay the night. My couch is really comfortable! I’ll be fine there and you need to recover. I even googled it online for the care measures that have to be taken after someone has an anxiety attack! For you!”

He looks taken back.

“Fine. I know I have to recover and I really don’t want another attack. I’ll just do it for that.”

Why does he have to be so cold sometimes? I guess I have to warm him up.

“Hey. How about you get to leave first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll walk you home, you’ll be well rested and away from me. Just like you want, okay!”

We don’t talk for the rest of the night. 

____


	5. Party hard!

**NECTARINE**

_There’s no time for us  
For you   
For me   
To put up with this   
Hope your garden grows enough   
For you   
For me  
To blind you from the truth   
Throw away the mask that shields your eyes  
Don’t let my horns take you by surprise  
I hope you let your teeth sink in   
The reality you’ve lost, you’ll never win_

As I crash the splash cymbal a final time, Recker shoots his massive arms up to the stage lights, and yells out the final blow. As usual, the crowd goes wild. Any sane person would likely not come to our concert to protect their hearing, but I’m glad that everyone in the Rapture fan base is too wild to care. 

Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a teen girl crying because the concert was over. And that our tour was almost over too with only one show left, so I dropped my set- bag, walked to the edge of the stage and blew a harmless kiss in her general direction , and she instantly fainted. Kids are so easy to impress…

—

To recover from our loud and wild tour, the band and I decided that it was a good time to get a bite from a local soda-shoppe down the alley. It was Marv, our coolheaded’s bassist’s idea again. Reckard probably let them choose the meal again because he wants to be the coolest boyfriend like always, which I tell him he succeeds at. 

To think that Marv and Reck were able to fall in love while playing the most ear-scorching and unorthodox music in the 21st century possibly ever is beautiful, I think. I don’t even know how they got together. No one could’ve predicted it, but when they told our fans, they went wild. I have never seen so many drawings of people I knew in real life before. It was insane, but it was really fun. Recker would go bat-shit wild when he found a new drawing. He showed everything to Marv who blushed and tried to horde it all somehow. Fans everywhere seemed to unite at once. It wasn’t even that long ago. 

Unlike the concert we were at a few hours ago, the ice cream parlor was calm and quiet to our ears. Marv ended up having to order the ice cream for Reck and I since we were too busy looking at pictures of dogs in our booth seat and yelling at them to care. Marv was clearly tired and over stimulated from it all. They slid next to Reck and nested their head on Recker’s shoulder, something they did even before they confirmed their relationship. I stifled a bit of laughter as I took a bite into my scoop of rocky road.

I had to admit that I was terribly tired and a tad homesick myself as I missed a few friends at home, some sights and certain restaurants as well. As fun as it is, touring can bring both the best and worst of you, even if it publicly shows or not.

“Hey! Nectarine,” muttered Recker, “We should probably give your lil’ bro more credits. He deserves them a lot since he helped us with so much on our songs, man.”

“Reck, I don’t know how to tell you but I’ve been trying for the last three years to give him at least a thousand dollars for what he’s helped us with.”

It’s all true, except for the part where Recker assumed that Sport was my little brother. Even though we are twins, I’m pretty sure that Sport’s just a little older by five minutes. Recker’s very right. I need to give Sport a lot of credit for what he’s done. Not just for the sake of congratulating him on his hard work, mostly for legal reasons. 

I tried to come up with an idea, but I just ended up blankly staring at a wall. Anything that popped into my head has already been attempted and failed before. 

“Wait,” Spoke up Marv. “I have an idea.” Marv pushed their hair back and looked straight at me. “How about you subtly give him the money. He won’t even notice that his money is in his pocket.”

I snickered a bit. “Good idea, but he’s probably smarter than that. He’ll likely throw the money straight back in my face. He’s a tough customer that way.”

Recker was fiddling with his thumbs. He then looked up and then smiled at us with a big grin. Oh boy. 

“How about we throw a big party nearby here,” he paused a bit when he saw our awkward glances, “But hear me out! We should throw a fancier party that’s a little bit watered down and make it an option not to go if he doesn’t accept the payment. We won’t pressure him at all to be at the party. Just make it an option between that and the credits. There’s no way he’d choose the party.”

Actually, that is a good idea. Sport hates crowds and when there are too many people. I’m sure he’d take the money any day, right?

**SPORT**

I should apologize. 

It’s been five days since I stopped talking to Grett. Well yes, we still meet up on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he gives me the previews of what he’s been working on, I help him revise it. 

We just don’t talk though. 

He went out the main door with no expression on his face at all. I awkwardly faked a smile as the front door bell jingled. I then slammed my head directly on my desk. 

A moment passed, and I felt like a forest of dead trees just fell on me. Normally, I would’ve just kept working on my emails and suggestions again but now, I felt too sick to do anything productive. With my back to the wall, I slid down and slumped with my head down in my hands. I just sat there for a bit, letting time pass as it did. 

“Sport, sport?? Are you okay?”

I released my face free from my hands and looked up to see Chema, eyebrows stiff and eyes full with worry. She was hard to see with the lights off, but I knew she was worried.

“Chema, you really don’t have to worry. I’m okay,” I faked. “It’s just one of those days.”

She rolls her eyes a tad and takes a seat next to me. She’s dead serious so I shut my mouth. 

“Is there something you wanna talk about? I have time. It’s okay if you don’t want to either. I’m just worried.”

I know I’m not okay either, so I take a few sharp inhales before saying anything.

“Chema, I think you’ve at least noticed my lack of communication with him,” I grumbled, “I haven’t said a word to him in five days now. That’s really bad. The worst part is that it’s mutual.”

I’m keeping eye contact with her, but my vision of her is warped by hot tears that run down my face.

“I… I think that you should instruct and help him with his song instead. He clearly doesn’t want to be near me. He saw the real me, the me who’s judgemental, can’t be nice, and only pushes away others. He’s too good for m-“

“Sport,” she puts her hand in front of me. “I know for a fact that’s not true. Even from my outside view, I know that you two have an inseparable bond. And I know you care, because you’re here. You do your job and you do a lot for him. Grett’s just in a bit of a blip right now, and it’s ok. He’ll get over it, I’m sure. He just needs your time again.”

Chema must’ve seen how I was covered in tears, so she enclosed my sorry self in a hug.

I don’t remember the last time I broke out crying in front of someone. It might’ve been in front Nectarine, a year ago. I just usually keep to myself. I do that best.

**GRETT**

I think it’s been awhile since I’ve talked to Sport. I haven’t counted, but I know that it was too long. I didn’t feel good about it.

I had to talk to him. But how? I can’t just send him a casual text. He clearly wants space, but for how long?

A week? A month? A year? Forever?

At that thought, I shuddered. That’s not what I would ever want. Deep inside, I knew that he wouldn’t want that either. 

But again, I really shouldn’t be so hung on up on this even though I’m probably at fault for when the air gets thick and unpleasant during the sessions I would always look forward to.

Like some kind of child, I pressed my face harshly into my vibrant blue bedsheets, groaning and complaining. This went on for a while, as I ached from not moving for a few minutes and using my vocal chords in non-aesthetic ways.

Out of all things, a string of notifications was the thing to get me back on my feet. I couldn’t handle a lot of notifications from my socials, since I did get a decent following after people liked my videos. 

When I checked it, it was all texting from Nectarine. 

**Chat with Nectarine**

Nectarine: hi there Grett!! I’m inviting you to a big party in two weeks, on thanksgiving break (Celebrating our tour! Yaaay) Also it’s in San Diego, California. Hope you don’t mind that :p

Nectarine: also I invited several others!! I bought 3 plane tickets and only two hotel rooms (sorry, I don’t have that much money, these rooms are not cheap) from where you are to there! 

Grett: WHAT??

Grett: CALIFORNIA?? I’VE ONLY BEEN TO TWO U.S. STATES IN MY LIFE AAAA

Nectarine: only two? 

Grett: oh right I forgot to tell you I’m from Canada :)

Nectarine: ah. Didn’t know that at all. :o)

Nectarine: ah you do have a slight accent!! Ohhhh

Grett: yea lmao it’s not that different 

Grett: oh right about the whole party thing 

Grett: I’m really excited, actually!! How many were invited??

Nectarine: oh this party is only for the cool people hehe 

Nectarine: it’s just that we have a lot of fans, so we actually had fans audition to get in!! Musical talents and shit I guess

Nectarine: it’s mostly semi-famous musicians there tho 

Grett: wow!! That’s really interesting. Wait. You’re doing this for Sport, aren’t you?

Nectarine: how did you know Grett? 

Grett: ummmmmm I think I know him and you well enough to know that. Sport doesn’t like big crowds or exhausting environments. When I took him out for dinner at a karaoke bar once he didn’t want to talk. Just stared at the table. 

Nectarine: oh

Nectarine: that does sound right

Nectarine: congrats on taking Sport out to dinner! 

Nectarine: hold on I read this thinking u two became boyfriends or something 

Grett: SFDFHJFDSFGHJKFFDSASSSSD

Grett: no??? Ok I want to but whatever :)))

Nectarine: 👌 

_____________________

This was.. a lot to take in. I’ve always wanted to meet a lot of other professional artists on the music scene, but in two weeks? I think I could do that, but not without fanboying a lot. 

However, something about this party sounds kind of abrupt and out of the ordinary, but I shouldn’t look too far into it, even though I’m aching to. I just have to be mentally prepared for this. 

**CHEMA**

Nectarine is the only person I know in the whole wide world who would invite so many people at a time to a giant party in such short notice. I was almost not surprised when I saw the messages before I took a shower. 

Even though I’m not the most socially adapted person ever, I don’t mind a good party. So I instantly mark the dates on my calendar for this event. 

However, there does seem to be some kind of scheme behind all of this. Nectarine isn’t that social herself. 

+++

A week passes, and I still record and work at the studio. After Sport and Grett stopped talking for a bit, the warmth of the place did seem to drop a few degrees. The other people and my clients that had the same shifts as them also seemed to notice a difference as well. 

On Monday, the most communication they did was feedback notes. Tuesday, Grett seemed to lose his chipper tone even when singing. By Wednesday, seeing Sport go back to his mails with a blank expression in his coldness was unbearable. I couldn’t do anything about it and I doubt that the upcoming party would make him feel better anyway, so it was too hard to come up with anything that could actually cheer any of them up. Besides, they knew each other more than anyone knew them. I didn’t interfere. 

Thursday comes along and I try my best to ignore the two so I could get working on what I had to do for my own performances. I spent the time I had there to get a hold of my stage and production managers. Overall, they wanted me to get more proper music videos as I only had three of them and only one had been notable. Way less focused on the stage part, apparently.  
It’s mainly because a whole lot of things go into music videos. You need art direction, story directions, and something new and original. I personally admire those who have almost one of them for everything they release.

However, today’s different. When I get up for tea, Grett’s supposed to leave, but this time, he reaches out to Sport and grabs his wrist, pulling him outside. I don’t think he saw me since the drinks station is to the side. Not wanting to interfere, I didn’t ever get to know what happened. Guess that was for the best. taking it in, I awkwardly open my way into my corner in the studio. 

**SPORT**

Before I can do anything, he takes my wrist and we’re out the door. He’s incredibly fast getting from the studio to the alley of the cafe a block over. I’m too shocked by the temperature change and his sudden action to see what he’s doing at all until we get to the far end of the alley. Before I know it, I’m met up to face to face with him. 

For lack of a better word to describe him, he looks a tad angry and a tad disappointed. His eyebrows are stern and crease his sharp brown eyes. After running here, he’s a bit drained looking. 

“It’s been too long.” Is all he says. It’s the most we’ve talked in ten days.

However, I’m also far too focused on his face to even process that he’s pinning me on the white-tiled cafe walls and we’re less than inches away from each other. It’s a lot to take in. I don’t say anything until I notice it all. 

“What is this for Grett,” it comes out more stern than I would want it to. “Clearly, you want to talk again. I get it. Everyone wants us to at least say something. Hope you’re noticing that.”

At that, he loses his tension a bit. We’re still looking directly at each other. 

“Sport I-” he starts again, “I didn’t think you would say anything.”

Suddenly his eyebrows furrow a bit. He looks down and I have no Idea what he’s thinking about. Slowly, he backs away like some kind of scared puppy. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he states, his tone waving. “I could’ve made it normal but all I did was just force you out of the door. I should’ve just talked to you.” 

Looking away, Grett takes a sharp breath. Now he looks like he’s going to cry. I instantly blame myself for it. 

For once, I realized that his expressions weren’t as blank as they could’ve been. Maybe he just didn’t know what to think of me. I totally would’ve understood, since I know that I’m not that likeable. Mostly, it's my talent that is adored and nothing else. It’s all I’m good for really. Just a stack of skills to use for money, and sometimes that’s okay. 

**GRETT**

Maybe I shouldn’t have acted on pure impulse. That is where I messed up. That’s where Sport and I officially stop being friends. 

Ok. That’s way too far. 

The biting coldness of mid-November hits harder as the winds blow wildly. I turn my head over to Sport to check if it's okay. 

That’s when it hits me. He didn’t even have a jacket on and he was shivering. His cheeks were a blotchy pink and his knuckles looked whiter than chalk. 

Quickly, I unbuttoned my ski coat, ran to Sport and fastened it on him with haste. I made sure to get all of the buttons I could button there. As soon as I did, he looked up at me, not with confusion this time but with a bit of warmth. My coat looked kind of big on him, which I thought was really cute actually. 

“Dumbass,” he says fondly, “now you’re going to be cold.” 

Suddenly, I don’t feel cold at all. With the rush of warmth starting in my face, I’d say that I was overheating. 

“I don’t need the coat at all,” I spit back, “Hey. Want to go get something to eat at this cafe? I mean we do happen to be here and all.”

“Sure.” He says. It was enough for me to grin like an idiot. A single hot tear from the moment slides down my face, but it doesn’t matter. I think we’re good now.

**SPORT**

I’m usually at this cafe. It’s at a good walking distance from my home and I eat here most of the time before I go to work. 

However, with him ordering mini donuts and hot chocolate at the kitchen, something felt different, but in some kind of warm fluttery way. 

It kind of felt like I let him into my life, and I was okay with it. 

I offered to help him carry the drinks to our table, but he was too eager to do everything for me and that he thinks that I overwork myself. I disagree, I have a completely normal twelve hours six days a week or so to work with song help. 

Ok. Maybe I was overworking myself. I wouldn’t admit it though. 

Grett brought the tray over and sat opposite me. He was smiling so bright, it was blinding. Generally, he was just a really beautiful person. It made me realize how much I missed his smile as well.

“Sport,” he tensed down, but only a little bit. “I’m actually really glad you decided to agree to whatever I wanted to do today. I’m sorry for avoiding you. I honestly didn’t know anyway to do this, I panicked. Sorry. Totally okay if you don’t forgive me.”

“You know,” I started, “I’m really thankful that you did something.”

I inched closer in my seat and made sure he was paying attention.

“I also really wanted to talk to you, but after that one Saturday night, I really thought I did something that would make you hate me-”

“No!!! What??” He interrupted, “that's what you stopped talking to me about? I probably should’ve known. But it's okay, it's okay! I forgive you too!”

He broke out into a giggling fit, which made me flustered, so I shoved a mini donut in my face to hide my feelings. At this point, I think that even he could see that too. 

**GRETT**

It didn’t take us long to finish our snack, so he and I were heading back to the studio to get Sport’s coat. 

The studio was closed and there was nobody left. I waited by the door as he entered the building with his keys in hand. 

When he got back outside, the sky was a pleasant shade of purple and the trees and buildings were touched up by the glow of the lights outside. 

“Do you want to go anywhere? I really don’t care where.”

“How about we walk then,” he replies, “I think we could use it.”

Neither of us were really in any kind of rush at all so we took our time getting around town. It felt extremely nice to have him at my side, walking with me and actively conversing with me. It was all too nice. 

“Grett, you’re probably really excited for the party next week,” he brings up. “I mean, it’s a very different party than I’m used to. I wouldn’t mind being with other people like us, wouldn’t you?”

I think for a bit. I always wanted to do that. 

“Yeah!! I said. It’s going to be really fun.” 

The town was built around a shopping and food district, which I always found to be really nice to walk around in, so I’m glad he decided on this. 

“Look at this, Sport! Someone named this store after you!”

I pointed at the sport’s store. It was a lame and silly joke, but I honestly didn’t care. 

To my suprise, he started chortling and cracking up. He then looked at me, beaming brightly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that, so I looked away for a bit. I do tend to wear my heart on my sleeve, but I don’t want it to be that easy to get a hold of . 

As we escaped the shopping district, I felt him grab my hand suddenly. 

“Grett, I forgot to bring gloves. Mind if you hold my hands?”

Oh. Oh. Oh. 

I think he knew that I couldn’t say no, so I held them both. 

Then he freezes, since we’re stopped and we’re just basking in the light of the town mall in front of us. Before I knew it, everything seemed to pause. 

The buildings, the town and everything around it were gone. It was just me and him. Sport and I.

**SPORT**

I only had one thought in my mind, and It was him. I don’t know why I pulled that hold-my-hands-kind-of-thing, but it really didn’t matter. 

Instead of inching away from each other, we stepped closer, and closer in some kind of rhythm. It was new, but I think I could handle it. 

Soon, I had my arms around his waist, and he had his hand on my back. There was barely any room in between us at all. 

Inching his face closer, he whispered a single question. 

“Can I kiss you?”

In not even a second, I lifted my head up to meet his lips. It was a soft and fast first kiss but it was something I savored every bit and second of it. From the heat of it all, I felt my frozen lips heat up against his. I wanted it to never end. 

Never stop please, never stop. 

**GRETT**

I cradled his face in my hand ever so gently. I kissed back to let him know that I cared. To let him know that I wanted this. To let him know that I wanted him. 

After all the days of struggling to talk and properly converse, it all felt thrilling and worth it. 

We pulled away to catch our breath. He and I were taking great, heavy breaths. 

“Wow.” He breathed.

“Wow,” I hastily replied. 

“You know,” he panted, “you still have to finish working on your song with me. It’s that important.”

“I know,” I shot back. “It’s one of the more important things I have to worry about anyway. That and you now I guess.”

That made him flush a lot. He then took my hand again and made sure that his jade green eyes were focused at me. He does that a lot. However, I notice that in his eyes, there are specks of brown there. They weren’t there before. 

“Sport, your eyes! They have a.. um bit of brown in them.” 

“Ohh.. that. Sometimes that happens. No clue why. It’s not magical or anything, a lot of people with green eyes have this. It’s only slightly rare.”

I didn’t know that. But it did seem a bit magical to me.

“Hey… Sport? I know we held hands, walked together, had practically what’s socially accepted as a date twice and kissed once, but would you be my boyfr-”

“Yes,” he interjected. “Yes. Of course I’ll be your boyfriend.” 

And then we embraced once more.


End file.
